Qiao Wei found herself as the cannon-fodder ex-wife of the male protagonist in a historical novel. The male lead was handsome, with a broad shoulder, narrow waist, and long legs, clad in a uniform. Not only was he the type Qiao Wei liked, but his future prospects were also boundless. In the original story, Qiao Wei was a pitiful cannon fodder who ended up in misery, dying alone after eloping with someone. In the reborn version, the original female lead married the male lead and lived a good life. However, Qiao Wei, upon entering the book, didn’t want to be the cannon fodder. From being a lonely terminally ill patient to having a husband and children, with a big shot right at home, she couldn’t let others take that away. Qiao Wei wanted to hold on tight. Yan Lei noticed that ever since he brought his wife back, she seemed like a different person. “Commander Yan’s wife wears such old-fashioned fabric all the time, so simple and plain.” Qiao Wei: Natural fabrics are so comfortable, synthetic fibers go away. “Did you hear? Commander Yan’s wife voluntarily gave up the new dormitory and continued to live in the old family quarters, giving the chance of living in a building to someone else. Look at her ideological consciousness.” Qiao Wei: The courtyard in the broken dormitory building is much more down-to-earth. “We misunderstood them before. Look, the commander’s relatives are here, directly arranged in the guesthouse, high-standard reception, so atmospheric.” Qiao Wei: Having relatives stay at home is too annoying; sending them to the guesthouse is much more relaxed. Life went from being formal and distant to passionate and lively. From living in separate rooms in the past, she now walks around in his white shirt with smooth, straight legs in front of him. Before, he couldn’t see her in the morning, but now he could see her rosy cheeks and vibrant eyes when she woke up from morning exercise. In the past, she complained about his lack of education and didn’t allow her to touch his precious books. Now she willingly handed him a book, saying, “Although I hope you can read it too.” “Clothes, you can’t wash them; leave it to me,” the man said coldly. “Just because you don’t want to wash dishes, leave it to me,” the man disdainfully said. “Here,” the man handed it over. “What?” “Money and tickets,” he said. “This month I found more people to exchange cloth tickets, enough for you to buy new clothes.” Qiao Wei smiled with her eyes curled. As long as she wasn’t the cannon fodder, Qiao Wei lived happily in this 60s and 70s setting.